Welcome to my new wet wild home in Norfolk

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Breakfast time. Breakfast outside, my younger boy insisted. Good idea. He had
toast and jam with apple juice. I had rooibos tea with marsh harrier. Making
it a breakfast tick. Yes, a male, gloriously tri-coloured, silver, sable and
chestnut, cruising over the end of my garden and crossing my marsh as a
marsh harrier should.

It was the end of a perfectly extraordinary weekend, which came at the end of
a perfectly extraordinary week. I had left home on the Monday to cover
Wimbledon for this newspaper, and I didn’t buy a return ticket. Instead, the
week’s duties done, I